


Alpha-agonists and Beta-blockers

by avalonjoan



Series: Inside Your Head, Inside Your Heart [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Anxiety, But only a little, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of suicide attempt, Panic Attacks, Sickfic, bitty is sweet and kind, medical AU, people being dicks about mental illness, psychiatry AU, they're psych residents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chief psychiatry resident Jack Zimmermann is already a little anxious from all the Sudafed he took that morning, so when the emergency medicine resident tries to make a joke about a patient who overdosed, he reacts a little more strongly than he otherwise might.  Fortunately, Dr. Bittle is good at calming down his coworkers as well as his patients.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha-agonists and Beta-blockers

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't really planned on expanding my psychiatry AU but then Maya asked so nicely and soon enough the tumbleweed ended up here. <3
> 
> Also I know pseudoephedrine isn't purely an alpha-agonist (hello phenylephrine) but let's just pretend for a second here so that my title looks nice, okay?

From the moment Dr. Jack Zimmermann woke up, he knew it was going to be a rough day. The day before, he’d been able to attribute his sore throat to all the yelling he and Kent had done at the Bruins game, but with the new addition of being unable to breathe through his nose, there was no denying that he was coming down with something. Rolling out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom and sifted through the cabinet until he found a box of Sudafed—the real kind that he’d had to sign for at the counter. He didn’t bother looking at the dosing information, just popping two pills into his mouth and washing them down with a splash of water from the sink.

He took the rest of the blister pack with him as he threw things into his backpack, since he would probably need more if he was going to make it until five without feeling too awful. At least he was working with Dr. Bittle—the second-year resident was good at giving Jack space when he needed it, and with a year of residency under his belt, Bitty was usually able to hold things down for himself. Really, he was just glad he didn’t have to deal with the interns that day; Dr. Chow was bright, but a little too intense for Jack at eight in the morning, and Drs. Nurse and Pointdexter were constantly trying to one-up each other, and Jack was in no mood to put up with either of their antics.

Shitty had made a pot of coffee before heading to his own shift at the Planned Parenthood across town, so all Jack had to do was fill his travel mug before getting in his truck and driving to the hospital. He rested his aching head against the window at each stoplight, hoping that the pseudoephedrine would kick in before he got to the psychiatry office. He’d prefer no one knowing he was under the weather—he didn’t need any attention focused on him. At least the coffee helped him feel a little more human as he made his way to the office for report.  
  
Bitty was already at one of the computers, clicking through lab results while breaking off pieces of his scone and periodically popping them into his mouth.  He looked up and smiled when Jack came in. “Lardo’s printing the sign-out now,” he said. “How are you?”

Jack shrugged, taking a seat at the next workstation over from Bitty. “I’m alright. I told you I was at the game on Tuesday, right?” Jack usually tried to keep conversation to a minimum when he was sick—he didn’t like the way his voice sounded—but he knew that Bitty would want to hear about the game.

“Oh, yeah!” Bitty turned in his chair to face Jack. “I think that was the best I’ve seen Bergeron play, like, ever. Were you there by yourself, or—“

“One of the guys I went to med school with was in town, so he came with me. Hadn’t seen him in a few years.” It had been really nice, actually—Kent was interviewing for pediatric critical care fellowships, he was dating a PA from the Mayo Clinic, and he seemed genuinely happy for Jack. There had been no awkward ‘no, we shouldn’t’ hookup at the end of the night, although Jack might have hugged Kent a little too long before he went home. He’d missed Kent, even if things had been a mess when they graduated six years ago.

Bitty nodded. “I haven’t seen anyone from my med school class,” he said, “But then again, there weren’t many other who were looking to match up North.”

The door to the office burst open, cutting Bitty off. Dr. Duan had been the overnight coverage, and by the looks of it, it had been a busy night. She looked exhausted, and her hair was a bit of a mess, but somehow her eyeliner was still in good shape. “Alright, boys,” she said, flopping into the vinyl-clad hospital recliner that had somehow ended up in the office, “I signed off on as many as I could, but we’re still following a whole bunch on the floors, plus the psych ED is full. Good luck.” She went through the list of patients while Jack and Bitty jotted down notes on their sign-out papers. Jack sniffled periodically throughout the report, rubbing at the sides of his nose where the pressure felt the worst. When Lardo finished, she got out of the chair with a dramatic sigh, wished Jack and Bitty a relatively pleasant shift, and left the office. Jack mumbled a goodbye, staring aimlessly at his screen. There were labs he needed to review, medications he needed to make sure were administered, but he still felt foggy, like he could sleep for another few hours.

“Hey.” Bitty’s voice was gentle, like the hand he rested on Jack’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Not realizing that he’d been slouching over the desk, Jack sat up straight. He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “Woke up with some sinus thing going on, that’s all.”

Bitty made a sympathetic face. “That sucks. Let me know if you need anything—I’ve got Tylenol in my locker, and maybe some other stuff in my backpack.”

“Thanks.” Jack reached into his backpack and popped another pill out of the packaging. “I figure a hundred and eighty of pseudoephedrine should get me through the day.”

While Jack swallowed the pill with the rest of his coffee, Bitty raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you take all that this morning?” Jack nodded. “That’s like, practically the max dose. Try not to have a hypertensive emergency, okay?”

Jack gave a small smile. “I’ll control my blood pressure through sheer willpower, alright?”

“Deal.” Bitty nodded, going back to his computer. “You want to start at the bottom of the list, and I’ll do the top?”

“Sounds good,” Jack said, flipping to the back page of the sign out and pulling up the nursing notes for the last patient on the list.

By the time he finished rounding on his patients and reviewing them with the attending psychiatrist, Jack was feeling pretty good. He’d felt a little jittery when he was running the list with Bitty and Dr. Hall, but the headache and congestion had gone away entirely. He was halfway through his progress notes when Bitty tapped him on the shoulder. “I forgot to pack a fork, so I’m gonna head down and eat in the cafeteria,” he said, lunch bag in hand, “Wanna come?”

Jack quick-saved the note and locked his workstation. It was always nice to get a change of scenery from the small psych office. He took his own lunchbox with him and followed Bitty downstairs, listening to him detail an awful date that Dr. Oluransi had set up for him. In the cafeteria, Jack went to find a table while Bitty went to get utensils. He was already a few bites into his peanut butter and jelly sandwich when Bitty approached him, another doctor at his side.

“Remember how we were talking about people we went to school with?” Bitty said, and Jack nodded. “This is Cal Brenner, one of the EM residents—we went to undergrad together at Princeton.”

Jack reached over and shook Dr. Brenner’s hand after the other sat down. “Nice to meet you. Jack Zimmermann—I’m in psych with Bitty.”

Cal had already taken a few bites of his sandwich before getting to the table—the emergency department didn’t allow much time for meals. When he spoke to Jack, it was around a mouthful of fries. “Nice to meet you. Actually, it’s convenient that I ran into you guys--we just sent a patient up to the ICU, and if he makes it, they’re gonna consult you for placement.”

“Oh. What’s the story? We can put them on our secondary list.” Jack reached into the pocket of his white coat for the roster, getting ready to scribble down a name.

“Usual suicidal teenager—last name’s Kalenjian.” Cal took a swig of Diet Coke. “He’s been in the ED at least fifty times for cutting, but it looks like he finally decided to try a little harder and downed a bottle of lithium. Nearly got it done, but his roommate came home and brought him in.”

Jack looked blankly at Cal, who had returned to eating his lunch. He dug his fingernails into his palms, his anger like a pulse in his already tremulous hands. Doing his best to keep his tone light, Jack said, “I hope you weren’t that much of an asshole when you talked to the kid’s parents.”

“Ah, you know I’m only kidding, man.” Cal nudged Jack with his elbow.

“A teenager tried to kill himself and you’re making a fucking joke about it?” Pushing his chair back so he could face Cal straight on, Jack found himself speaking louder—too loud. Cal opened his mouth, but Jack kept going. “I mean sure, I’m a psychiatrist, so I guess I’ve learned a little more empathy in residency, but seriously, do they actually teach you to be a complete dick in the ED? Where in the curriculum do they physically remove your ability to care?”

“I didn’t mean to—“

Jack rose to his feet to stand over the other doctor. The cafeteria had gotten awfully quiet, and he could feel the eyes on him, but he couldn’t stop. “You know, I hope this kid makes it. I hope he gets better, that someone finds the right drugs and the right therapist and that maybe, someday, he can have a relatively normal life. But mostly, I hope that he never ends up in the ED again with some fucking asshole like you acting like he’s doing this just to spite you.”

His heart was pounding in his chest, his hands were tingling, and everything felt a little distant, like he was just watching this unfold. He had to get out of there. Leaving his lunchbox on the table, Jack turned and left the cafeteria, hands clenched into fists, not looking up from his feet until he got back to the psych office. He reached into his backpack and fumbled for the prescription bottle he hadn’t needed for months. Curling up on the recliner, he managed to get one pill out and put it in his mouth, swallowing it dry.

Jack couldn’t get a deep breath in. His palms were sweating. He could leave, pretend to go home sick, and continue to ride out this combination of anxiety and stimulant overdose at home where he couldn’t cause any more damage. He was going to be in so much trouble when Dr. Hall found out about this. Bringing his knees to his chest and putting his hands behind his head, he pulled himself into the smallest ball he could manage. His chest hurt, and he remembered why so many patients with anxiety were sure they were having a heart attack.

The door opened, and Jack actually stopped breathing, the burn in his chest spreading so that he swore he could feel it in his fingers. He was dizzy from hyperventilating, and his vision blurred with gray shadows. He let out his breath when he saw that it was Bittle, wide-eyed, with Jack’s lunchbox tucked under his arm.

“Oh, honey,” Bitty sighed, one hand against his chest as he crossed the room and sat on the arm of the recliner. For once, he was the higher up of the two, and Jack felt Bitty’s arms circle around his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his face. When Bitty rested his cheek against the top of Jack’s head, Jack could hear him continuing to speak softly to him, an ongoing stream of comforting words. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re okay. Everything’s gonna be fine, darlin’.”

Jack still couldn’t pull in a good breath—it was like he was crying, but without the tears. The propranolol he’d taken wouldn’t do anything for at least a half hour. It wasn’t for anxiety like this—it was for the days when he was vaguely uncomfortable and didn’t trust himself not to second-guess everything he did. It had been years since he’d had a full-on panic attack, so long that he’d stopped the Xanax prescription. He clawed at his sternum, as if he could make more room in his chest for air.

“Lord, you’re not doing well at all, are you?” Bitty brought his hand down to rest over Jack’s, the firm pressure stilling his scrabbling fingers. “Let’s work on breathing, alright? I’ll do it with you, in for three, then we’ll hold for three, then let it out. Okay?” Bitty’s accent was stronger than Jack had ever heard it, like Jack’s own was when he called home.

Jack did his best to follow Bitty’s breathing, the gentle counting in his ear. “That’s good, Jack, that’s perfect,” Bitty crooned, sliding off of the arm of the chair and fitting himself in behind Jack, his chest pressed against Jack’s spine. Even though he was small, Bitty seemed to envelop him. “Let’s do it again, but to four this time.”

After a few cycles, everything came back into focus. The pain in his chest was better, Bitty’s hand still steady on his breastbone. Now that he was breathing somewhat normally, he realized just how much his cold had settled in his lungs. He turned away from Bitty and coughed. It hurt, and he rubbed at his throat, dry from his rapid breaths.

“You poor thing,” Bitty murmured, “I forgot that you weren’t feeling well on top of all this.” Jack nodded, tilting his head back to rest against Bitty’s shoulder. He closed his eyes while Bitty kept talking. “Pretty soon you’ll be able to head home—you’ll feel better after a shower, I bet—you can relax, take care of yourself, get some rest. Might want to hold off on the Sudafed, though.”

Jack smirked at Bitty’s jab—he’d wanted to avoid attention and look where he ended up. He’d have to make do with Tylenol. But sleep--sleep sounded perfect. He’d forgotten how exhausting this was. He considered letting himself drift off right there—his notes could wait.

Besides, Bitty seemed okay with Jack staying put for a little longer. The other still had one hand still on Jack’s chest, gently tracing the pad of his thumb over the material of Jack’s shirt. Jack felt Bitty’s breath against his neck, steady and soft. His eyes closed, he pictured Bitty watching over him, his lips by Jack’s ear if he needed soothing. He let the sweet names Bitty had used roll around in his head while he let exhaustion take over. He’d never been ‘darling’ before. The room was still except for their breathing.

The pager went off, and Jack’s heart was pounding in his chest again, more from being startled awake than from anxiety. He reached to his belt to silence it and felt Bitty’s hand close around his. “It’s okay, honey,” Bitty said, his voice a little farther away, “I’ll take this one.”

“No.” Jack didn’t realize how long it had been since he said anything, his voice breaking. He carefully rose to his feet—he’d taken propranolol enough (and prescribed it) to know that slow movements helped with the lightheadedness. “I can do it. Take my mind off everything.”

Bitty gave a small smile and nodded, unfolding himself from where he’d been wedged behind Jack. “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you get some water, maybe finish lunch first? Whatever it is can wait a few minutes.”

Sitting at his desk, Jack picked up his lunchbox from where Bitty had let it fall when he rushed over to Jack. His sandwich was a mess—the peanut buttered side had slid off of the jelly side, and the whole thing had gotten stuck to the plastic bag of carrot sticks he had packed. While he did his best to salvage it, Bitty sat at his own desk, looking apologetic.

“I would have re-wrapped it, but I was gonna slug Cal if I stayed there any longer,” he muttered, and Jack looked up, meeting his gaze. Bitty looked admiring, almost proud, and Jack looked away, taking a bite of his disaster of a sandwich. “You were totally right to call him out. He’s been a dick since undergrad—I kind of hoped I’d like him more, now that we’re both doctors.”

Jack chuckled and shook his head. “They can’t teach empathy, as hard as they try.”

Bitty nodded. He looked like he was going to say something when his pager went off. “Calm down,” he muttered, taking a look at the screen. “It’s the ICU—they’re looking for help with a patient with delirium. Is that the same one you got paged for?”

Jack hadn’t actually looked at the page when he’d told Bitty he’d take the consult. He read the message on his own pager. “Yeah. I’ll head over, before they keep going down the list and page Dr. Hall.” He quickly finished the rest of his sandwich, leaving the carrots for later. He stood. “I’ll lay eyes on the kid Cal sent up, while I’m there.”

Standing as well, Bitty smiled at Jack. “Want a hug before you go?”

“Yeah, Bits,” he said, letting the other pull him in. He bent down a little to accommodate Bitty’s height and ended up with his lips against Bitty’s temple, his nose being tickled by blond hair. “Thanks for looking after me,” he murmured against Bitty’s skin.

“Anytime. I’ve got your back.”

* * *

 

 **Eric Bittle (8:45 PM)  
** _Checking in--you still doing okay?_

 **You (8:50 PM)**  
_I am.  Just had that shower and I’m heading to bed now.  
Thank you._

 **Eric Bittle (8:52 PM)**  
_Good : )  
Sleep well, darling._

 **You (8:54 PM)  
** _You too. See you in the morning._

 


End file.
